


And I Feel Fine

by Prizzlesticks (Maeleene)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, And angst, Boys Being Cute, Contractor!Dean, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Destiel Ficlet Challenge, Don't Worry About It, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gardener!Cas, Gardening, He's probably gonna rule the world, M/M, Mutual Pining, Neighbors, Pining, accountant!Cas, architect!Dean, lazy cat, mentions of Gabriel - Freeform, mentions of John Winchester/Mary Winchester, mentions of Sam Winchester/Sarah Blake, mostly just fluff, technically offscreen death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-31
Updated: 2014-07-31
Packaged: 2018-02-11 04:48:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2054244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maeleene/pseuds/Prizzlesticks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Despite the three-and-a-half years he’d lived in this house, Dean could honestly say he didn’t really know his neighbor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And I Feel Fine

**Author's Note:**

> Pairing: Dean/Castiel
> 
> Rating: PG
> 
> Words: 5,561
> 
> Written for [Destiel Ficlet Challenge](http://destielficletchallenge.tumblr.com/).

Despite the three-and-a-half years he’d lived in this house, Dean could honestly say he didn’t really know his neighbor.

It was a shame because he seemed like a genuinely interesting guy. When the realtor had shown Dean the house, she’d taken great care to mention how sweet the neighbors were, the one next door on the corner lot especially. Just a doll, she’d stressed. Dean saw neither hide nor hair of this supposedly wonderful neighbor until an early Saturday morning a week or so after he’d finished moving in. Barely awake and wondering why anyone would be knocking on his door (let alone on a _Saturday morning_ \--God, didn’t anyone sleep in around here?), he had answered it to find an absurdly attractive man tilting his head and squinting curiously at Dean.

The man had messy, dark brown hair and startling blue eyes, the sleeves of his grey henley pushed up past his elbows and worn out jeans resting dangerously low on his hips. And then Dean noticed his bare feet, toes wiggling on the welcome mat.

“Hello, Dean,” he said, and before Dean could ask if they’d met before, he held up a small stack of mail. “I believe the mailman is confused,” he went on, pointing to the house on the corner. “I’m your neighbor.”

“Oh,” Dean mumbled, taking the letters slowly. Of all the things he’d been expecting, something so mundane hadn’t been it. “Right. The lady who showed the house mentioned you. Cas-something…?”

“Castiel Novak,” his neighbor supplied. “I’m sorry I didn’t stop by sooner. I’m afraid work and my garden held me up.”

A quick glance did indeed show a rather impressive garden with a trellis and lazy cat to boot. The early spring sun was barely risen above the treeline, some of the beds in shadow, but others practically sparkled in the light. Dean had a very limited knowledge of flowers, but the ones beginning to bloom were an array of colours and shapes and already promised a stunning effect as the season wore on. It was all rather idyllic.

Dean realized he was leaning embarrassingly close to the strange man to get a better look and took a quick step back, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck in a way meant to be casual but probably just looked nervous.

“It’s no problem,” he reassured quickly, glancing again at the mail and shuffling it for something to do. “It looks mostly like junk anyhow. Really, don’t worry.” Castiel shot him a gummy smile that had Dean’s heart thumping irregularly. “So y’know… yeah. Thanks. You. Thank you. For… bringing it over and…”

Dean had been cringing by that point and was only too happy to cut the awkward meeting short when his phone began to ring. He didn’t remember his parting words, something about getting together sometime for a barbeque or something equally cliché, and soon forgot all about it as he’d chatted away to his brother Sam and then got on with his life and his new position as lead contractor with his design and construction company.

Dean genuinely enjoyed his work. Designing and building things had started out as a silly hobby after he and some friends built a robot for a science project back in middle school and only grew from there. Soon he was helping his dad fix cars, then he was tinkering with the engines to see what he could improve, then his mom was signing him up for a design and engineering camp for the summer. And that had been his introduction to architecture. Designing buildings, learning to find new ways to build that were structurally sound but also innovative and aesthetically pleasing, even the math and technical aspects of planning--Dean was enthralled with it, and even more so with the actual construction part. He liked getting his hands dirty and the screaming protest of his  muscles after a long day of work. He liked taking hammer and nails and watching the lines on paper transform into the foundation for something solid. He liked bringing his visions to life and creating something sturdy and solid, something enduring.

Which was why the current situation was all the more bitter and ironic. He thought he’d been constructing buildings that would survive the ages. Turns out a giant asteroid to the Earth beats human architecture in the cosmic game of rock-paper-scissors.

Yup. An asteroid. The end of the world, a la Armageddon style, only without Liv Tyler looking pretty to take the edge off. Dean could practically hear the rough croon of Aerosmith in the background. (Or it could be playing from across the street again. Turns out current events had '[I Don’t Wanna Miss A Thing](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JkK8g6FMEXE)' at the top of the charts all over again, for however much good that did good ol’ Steven.) Really, it kind of fucking sucked, but Dean had quickly realized nothing short of divine intervention was gonna change things, and all the anger and grief had cooled into a numb sort of acceptance. The world was going to end, and Dean couldn’t do jack to stop it. He’d come to terms with it. And there was only one regret left.

Dean stood on his porch, two bottles of beer dangling from his fingers, and stared across the fence at Castiel’s yard where his quiet, strange neighbor knelt, tending his garden. It was strange to see him there in the early afternoon on a weekday, but Dean could hardly fault him for skipping out on work. Who needed accountants when the end was nigh?

Then again, who needed beautiful gardens?

That was the thing about Castiel. Dean could never figure him out, and he had never taken the time to do so. When Dean’s friends (or family, on the handful of occasions they’d managed to make it for a visit) came for backyard cookouts in the summer, he’d meant to call across the fence to where Cas was puttering around in his yard, weeding his [hollyhocks](http://carolyneroehm.com/wp-content/uploads/P7130199001.jpg) or trimming back the roses or training the [clematis](https://12amusings.files.wordpress.com/2010/04/clematis_0002.jpg) to grow along the porch rails. Sometimes Cas’d just be out reading in the shade or tossing catnip mice to his mostly uninterested, very [fat tortoiseshell cat](http://www.mooseyscountrygarden.com/garden-journal-09/cat-fat-tortoiseshell.jpg), Parsnip. Dean would look out over their shared fence and remember his promise they’d get together sometime, open his mouth to call out, and then Castiel would glance up and smile at him, lift a hand and wave. And Dean would simply wave back, turn away, and try and get his hands to stop shaking because it was totally irrational. Cas was just a weird guy who wore business suits on the weekdays and barely dressed in his down time, who walked around barefoot to deliver mail, who didn’t give a damn that he’d left a smudge of dirt over his forehead when he reached up to brush his hair away from his face with his silly green gardening gloves still on. He ate snap peas fresh from the garden, dried his own herbs for hot cups of tea, and _he had a cat_. Dean hated cats. There was no reason he should feel like he’d run a marathon after the strange guy had only smiled at him. So, _next time_. He’d invite Castiel over next time.

And even though he hadn’t extended an invitation to the man, after all his guests had left and Dean was picking up the refuse with an obvious exhaustion in his steps, Castiel would come to the gate, step inside, and quietly offer a hand cleaning up. If Dean started making an extra burger or two and plying him with leftovers, that was his own business. It was just good manners. You don’t snub a guy and then let him clean up your yard for nothing, after all.

They rarely said much during those times, quietly working side-by-side to take down the strings of lights and get the food into plastic tupperware to save for later. Whenever Dean would try and thank him, Cas would respond with, “Don’t mention it, it’s what neighbors do,” or some variation. At the end, he’d send Cas back home with a stack of tupperware and the suggestion he come to the next gathering, and days later Dean would find a washed and clean stack of plastic picnicware on his porch with a post-it note that read, “Thanks :),” on it. Seriously, with a smiley face. What grown man used emoticons on written notes? Dean refused to call it adorable.

If that had been all, it would have been easy to write it all off, but the first Christmas season Dean spent in his house, the one when Sammy had flown in from sunny California to visit him in the harsh winter of Maine (“Never again, Dean, it is too damn cold!”), he’d come home from an emergency call from work to find a freshly baked pie on his doorstep with a note that said, ‘For Dean and his brother, Sam-- Happy Holidays!’ There was even a tinsel bow on top of the covered pie tin. And it was pumpkin. The perfect pie for the season. And every year thereafter, for Thanksgiving and Christmas and even on his birthday last year, there was a pie waiting for him, homemade and delicious.

Sometimes Dean would pass by plant sales in the nearby park, and Dean would find an unusual or particularly pretty looking plant in the spring and summer. He’d think back on those late night cleanups and delicious, perfectly tart or sweet pies, and he’d buy it on a whim and leave it at the gate. He never mustered up the courage to open the gate and pass under that wide, woven trellis and knock on Castiel’s door, but a few days later he’d see the plant somewhere in his yard or in a pot on the porch by the swing, and he’d smile. He didn’t know the difference between perennials or annuals or biennials or whatever, but Cas never seemed to mind. He never told Dean his flowers were weeds or wouldn’t match his garden--he’d simply find them homes. Some years they came back after the weather warmed up, sometimes they didn’t and Dean would try and find another like it to compensate. If his stomach fluttered when he caught Cas idly stroking the petals on one of his gifted plants, well…That was his own business, wasn’t it?

It wasn’t a friendship, exactly, and Dean always told himself, ‘Next time. Next time I’ll invite him over, go inside, ask him out. Next time.’

The condensation on the beer bottles he held now dripped down over his fingers, reminding him that there were no more next times, only a handful of tomorrows left. He took a deep breath, tromped down his stairs and over to their shared white fence.

Castiel was kneeling down in the garden bed, those silly green gloves, decorated with peapods of all things, covered in dirt from his work in the weeds. As Dean drew closer, he tugged a particularly mean looking weed from the ground, its thick, tangling tap roots refusing to let go, and it pulled out with a painful tearing sound and a low grunt from Cas. When Dean’s shadow fell over him, he paused, looking up and wiping the sweat from his brow, mindless of the dirt smudge it left behind. Dean’s hand itched to reach out and wipe it away, clenching tighter around the neck of the bottle he held. For a moment, the sun shone in Castiel’s eyes and the pupils retracted to pinpoints. The blue of his iris was intense in the light, so many shades dazzling Dean into a stupor, and he forgot everything he’d meant to say as they stared at each other.

Then Cas brought his hand up to shade his eyes, tilting his head in that curious way of his, and said, “Hello, Dean. What can I do for you?”

It seemed like a dumb moment to realize his neighbor was barefoot, his plain linen pants and short-sleeved button up both covered in dirt. It should have been a turnoff, and at the very least it was just weird, but Dean found himself smiling in a way both amused and sad. They stayed like that, silent, for the few minutes it took Dean to collect himself again. Then he leaned lightly on the fence with his hip, raised the hand with the beer in offering, and shrugged.

Castiel’s smile was small as he turned his face to the ground, smaller still when he looked back up to Dean and accepted one of the bottles. “Thank you,” he said, twisting the cap off with his still-gloved hand. Then he paused, as if in thought. A moment passed before he raised the bottle to his lips to drink, and after the first swallow he nodded towards his gate. “Would you like to come over?” Cas asked, eyes still trained on Dean’s face.

Dean froze solid, then thawed all at once. The nervousness in his stomach faded quickly as he nodded. “Yeah. Yes, sure. Thanks, Cas,” and he made his way around the front of his yard, then half-jogged to gate of Castiel’s. The iron latch was well-oiled and well-used, quaint in its design. The simple black iron of the latch matched the [grapevine door grille](http://ep.yimg.com/ay/yhst-23119701400359/grapevine-wall-grille-5.jpg) decorating the face of the gate. He pressed down on the thumb latch and watched the bar slide loose, then pushed open the gate and stepping beneath the [wisteria](http://hgtvhome.sndimg.com/content/dam/images/hgtv/fullset/2006/4/6/0/SHNS_YardSmart04_03a.jpg.rend.hgtvcom.1280.1792.jpeg) that dangled overhead. The bush had long since [bloomed and faded](http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Sr6klczy7q0/UiJ6_1i1EgI/AAAAAAAACFs/DfwqqjI42hE/s1600/IMG_3869+wisteria_on_greenhouse.jpg), with only a few stubborn blue blossoms wilting beneath the heat of the sun. He’d seen Cas out pruning it sometime last week, but it still brushed against his hair as he passed.

By the time he’d made it all the way around, Cas had moved from his garden bed to the porch steps and was slowly pulling his gloves off, setting them to the side. Almost as an afterthought, he looked down and began dusting off his knees and the hem of his pants, like trailing soil and mud after him was second nature and he was only cleaning up for company. Dean hesitated for a brief moment, then sat down beside him and popped the lid off his own warming beer.

The silence between them was thick but not uncomfortable, and Dean finally broke it with, “Your yard is… well, it’s real pretty,” then winced at how dumb it sounded, even to him.

Castiel merely beamed at him, a wide and genuine smile, and turned to look at his garden beds and the tall, old oak in the far corner of the yard. The damn thing even had one of those old wooden swings you only ever see in illustrations or something. Dean knew Cas sometimes went out to sit and read on it or antagonize his cat as it rested in the tree’s shade. After a moment of proud consideration, Castiel nodded. “Thank you. I am rather fond of it.” Gently, he nudged his finger against the leaf of a bright white bloom that sprouted from a terracotta pot. Dean thought it might have been one he’d dropped of himself earlier in the year, after an exuberant florist gave it to him as thanks for designing and constructing her new flower shop.

“Is that…?” he began, but didn’t know how to finish or why it mattered.

Cas seemed to get what he was asking, because he smiled, turning the pot slightly so it was easier to see. “One of yours? Yes. It’s a rather stunning [gaura](http://dw3pv02xd90jb.cloudfront.net/medias/sys_tandm/8796377710622.jpg). He isn’t a picky fellow, doesn’t ask for much, but he’s easily one of the prettiest flowers I have.”

Dean had to agree. He didn’t know a pansy from a petunia, but the white flowers were lined very softly with hues of pink, and they looked almost like butterflies blooming out along golden foliage. Cas continued to run his fingers softly along the edge of the clay container, eyes soft. Dean found himself blushing, and he wasn’t sure why.

He stumbled through an explanation of the grateful florist, falling into a stunted silence at the end, wondering where his usual bravado went. Castiel listened quietly, nodding along. When the quiet between them went on just a little too long, he asked, “Why haven’t you come to see the garden before now?”

The question was so soft, barely a whisper, and for a moment Dean mistook it as a thought from his own head instead of an actual question from his neighbor. He turned to Cas, mouth parted on an explanation that wouldn’t come. Finally, he shrugged and let out a long, exasperated sigh.

“I don’t know, man. It’s not that I didn’t want to, I just… You… Well, you throw me for a loop. I mean, you hold philosophical discussions with your cat. And no offense, but he doesn’t look to interested. And you bake pie. Homemade and everything. I mean, pies!”

A flicker of amusement passed over Castiel’s features. “I grow the pumpkin myself, you know,” he informed Dean with just a bit more smugness than was needed.

Dean gaped at him for a moment longer, then gestured wildly with his free hand. “See? That right there. That’s why.”

“Because I garden…?”

“No, because you’re frickin’ awesome and grow pumpkins and have a respectable 9 to 5 job and a fat cat.”

“He isn’t fat, he’s healthfully plump.” Only Cas could sound so indignant for his perturbed cat’s figure.

Dean snorted, not knowing what else to say. They drank in amiable silence, watching as the sun inched from its place at high noon closer towards the horizon, the heat still stifling between them.

“What I meant was, why did you wait until _now_?” Castiel asked, gesturing expansively to the sky above them, his expression glum.

Dean shrugged, then laughed to himself in a way that wasn’t humorous at all. “I guess nothing gives you courage like the end of times,” he said.

Eventually, Cas stood and set his empty bottle on the bannister, offering Dean a hand up as well. “Would you like a cup of coffee? Tea? I have some blends of my own if you’d like.” He seemed unusually nervous, bare toes curling against the floorboards and straightening out again.

Dean had already had two cups of coffee today and wasn’t much of a tea drinker, but the obvious fidgeting was kind of cute and it was plain to see his neighbor just wanted to be hospitable. Hell, maybe he’d wanted to offer a friendly drink or two before now and Dean had always just come off as an uninterested dick. And who knew? Maybe tea was delicious and Dean had just never realized because of his manly aversion to it.

“Sure. Surprise me with your best ‘blend’ or whatever,” he agreed with a smile. Cas went inside to get it ready, and Parsnip slipped out through the open door like he’d been impatient for it to open, despite the cat door already there and waiting for him.

With nothing better to do, Dean knelt down and extended his hand, fingers drawn into a loose curl. Parsnip stared at him, utterly unimpressed. He butted his head once against his fist as he passed, as if by coincidence, and hastily continued on when Dean tried to pet him. With a _wumph!_ , the cat plopped into a wide sprawl beneath the oak. Dean didn’t know whether he was impressed by the imperious beast or annoyed. Before he could decide, Cas kicked the door gently open again, two mugs of steaming tea in his hands. Dean rose to take one, not bothering to question who would drink boiling plant juice in 90 degree weather. It smelled minty and tasted surprisingly cool and tingly on his tongue, a hint of something citrusy chasing the liquid down his throat.

That was weird. Weird, but not at all unpleasant. He figured it was kind of like Cas himself, and that made him smile.

“Not bad?” Castiel asked, looking very much like his smug cat as he tried to hide his grin behind his own mug.

“Yeah, yeah, go ahead and gloat,” but there was no malice behind it. He and Dean settled into the porch swing, kicking it back and forth leisurely and watching Parsnip ignore all the butterflies and grass flies flitting past.

What do you talk about when a giant rock is hurtling towards Florida and dooming humanity to fire and brimstone, anyway?

“Can I ask you something?” Cas piped up after a moment.

“Go for it,” Dean grunted, taking another sip of the hot tea. Peppermint something, maybe?

“Why aren’t you… you know…”

“Evacuating?”

Cas nodded. “Yes. I mean, it’s a bit of a circus, but…”

“But better to try and survive then lie down and die, right?” Cas shrugged and nodded again, urging Dean on. With a sigh, he continued. “Look, it’s kind of complicated. I’m sure you get that. I mean, there’s no guarantee that running far enough away from the impact zone will do jack squat to keep us alive. And the poles ain’t exactly Paris or whatever.” His neighbor smiled, maybe picturing a hashdash Eiffel Tower looming over frozen tundra and penguins like Dean was. “And anyway, airline prices are obscene now, especially to places far enough away for any chance of survival.”

“I know.” And something in his face convinced Dean he really did. Maybe he looked up flight prices to get away and found his bank account sorely lacking. It wouldn’t surprise Dean a bit.

“Yeah, well, my brother Sammy? He’s a smart kid. Hotshot lawyer in California now, sweet wife named Sarah, even got a kid on the way. My parents and I talked about it and convinced him to buy two tickets outta here. With his savings and ours' chipping in, we got ‘em both seats on a plane.” Castiel’s smile was soft and sad, and the guilt eating away at Dean made him avert his gaze. “Thing is, he said he’d only go if I went, too. Mom and Dad lied to him, said they’d got enough for us both. We don’t, of course, but he didn’t know. I lied to him. If he lives, and God he’d better, I don’t think he’ll forgive me.”

Cas’ hand was warm on his shoulder, the weight of it reassuring. “He’ll forgive you.”

“How do you know?”

He hadn’t meant for it to come out as biting as it had, but Cas took it in stride, blue eyes unfocused somewhere in the middle distance. “Because we’ll forgive a lot for family, especially in times like these.” Dean opened his mouth to ask, but Cas blinked, came back to himself, and smiled sheepishly. “Besides, I… I met Sam, when he was here for Christmas one year?”

It came out like a question, but Dean could only blink, genuinely dumbstruck. “You… you did?”

Castiel’s cheeks were dusted in a rosy blush, and he sucked his lip between his teeth, turning to look again at Parsnip where he lay dreaming, cat paws batting the air. He looked embarrassed, and Dean couldn’t actually remember a time Cas had shown a hint of chagrin. He nudged his neighbor’s shoulder with his own, trying to prompt the story out of him. Eventually, Castiel sighed in one long _whoosh_ \--the sigh of a very put upon man.

“I was out shoveling my walk, and you were called in on a project?” he started out, and waited to see if Dean remembered at all. Of course he did. He’d told Cas his brother was in town but he had to run into work, and if the giant oaf came over and tried to annoy him, to just shove his big face in a snowbank. A corner of Cas’ mouth tugged up, as if he was remembering just that advice, too. “Well, Sam saw me outside and came over to introduce himself and offer a cup of hot chocolate. He also helped me shovel, so we did your walk next. He was very bright and cheery. And he had nothing but praise for you. He also might have mentioned your soft spot for pie, and… suggested I bring some by sometime to ‘win you over’, as he put it.”

Air quotes. Actual, honest-to-god air quotes. That shouldn’t be adorable, but it was. And then Dean put two and and two together. “Wait, so the… the pies?”

“His suggestion, yes.”

“Win me over?”

“I might have mentioned I wasn’t sure you liked me much.” And this he said with his eyes downcast, fingers tracing the edge of his cup and cheeks bright with embarrassment.

Dean was shocked. Didn’t--? “What? Not like you? How’d you get that impression?”

And he immediately regretted the question. Always waiting until after his friends left to let Cas in, never having conversations that lasted more than a handful of sentences, never doing anything for him until after that first delicious pie. Yeah, Dean was kind of a dick. Castiel shrugged and didn’t answer, probably assuming Dean had worked it out for himself.

“For the record, I always liked you.” Castiel’s look of blatant astonishment had him backpedaling so hard he almost pulled something. “That is, I always thought you were pretty nice. Weird, but a cool guy. And I… I mean, God dammit.” He passed a hand over his face, rubbing the corners of his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “You just make me so nervous. I feel like I’m tripping over myself around you, awkward as hell. It’s a little unsettling.”

It was even more unsettling to feel warm fingers slide and settle between his, grasping his hand in a reassuring squeeze and not letting go. Castiel’s smile was warm and amused, and Dean felt his surprise fade into a pleasant buzz at his core, spreading out and tingling in his limbs like the tea he'd downed earlier.

“I understand, and I know better now.” His eyes slid to the gaura plant, then over to the myriad of other green things Dean vaguely recognized as ones he’d left Cas. “But I can hardly begrudge Sam his advice. It was effective, after all. And I was happy to put some of my garden to use.”

Sitting in silence again, holding hands, slowly drinking tea--it was all so strange and at odds with the end they knew was coming. And that sobering thought had Dean backtracking again. “Hey, Cas? Why aren’t you trying to get out?”

Castiel paused, the swing jarring with his stillness, and then resuming again with a gentler, more subdued motion. When he spoke, Cas’ voice was a little duller than usual. “My brother is a pilot,” he admitted.

Dean would have thought that a blessing. Pilots were getting paid astoundingly well these days, with the assurance they could put their paychecks into buying seats to get their families closer to safety, too, so long as they kept working. But tons of pilots were getting to their destinations and skipping town, disappearing into the woodwork, fugitives in a lawless time if they had no one else to think about.

For one horrifying, awful moment, Dean could picture this unnamed brother up and leaving Cas high and dry, taking off and ditching him when he could have done his damn job and given Castiel an out, too.

But then, Cas murmured, “He kept asking me to come with him, that he could get me out, get me somewhere safe, but…” He lifted a shoulder in a shrug and gestured with the hand still holding his mug to the house, the garden, the dumb cat, even Dean. “How could I leave all this behind? What if the scientists and speculations are wrong? What if this place somehow makes it out, and no one is here to tend the beds or feed Parsnip or…” His thumb brushed over Dean’s knuckles, and that was all that needed to be said.  “In any case, he disappeared a few days ago. Just fell off the grid. Knowing him, he’s probably built an igloo in the south pole and is lording over penguins.”

They languished in the slowly fading heat of the late afternoon, the hush of the wind in the trees and the chirp of birds who went on with their lives in ignorance. Dean kind of envied them.

“Besides, the world will be so changed after all this is over. Even if I did get out and survive, there wouldn’t be a place in the world for gardeners and pie.”

It was a soft admission, and Dean squeezed Castiel’s hand tighter in his own. He could probably make some blasé joke about pie and life worth living, but he held it in and let the stillness of the moment settle further around them. Parsnip woke up and plodded up the stairs to rub against a [stinky potted plant](http://bonnieplants.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/10/catnip-cat-pot-lo.jpg) near the door, Cas finished his tea and set the mug thoughtlessly beneath the swing and vaguely out of the way, and when he made to take Dean’s from him, his hand was batted stubbornly away and Dean finished the drink without a noise of complaint. It was domestic and peaceful and a whole lot easier than it should have been, but it seemed neither could bring themselves to mind.

They mumbled quietly back and forth, talking about music they liked and books they’d read and movies they still wanted to see. Dean thought it was a shame Cas hadn’t seen _Inception_ yet (What? He could totally relate to the architect chick Ellen Page played. Who wouldn’t relish the creative freedom of dreams and impossible designs?), and Castiel got Dean to agree to watch _Chocolat_ sometime soon. (“It’s a movie about chocolate, Dean, you really can’t complain.”) It wasn’t until the sun was ekeing down towards the horizon line and casting dusky shades of violet and red and rust and Cas’ head began to droop onto Dean’s shoulder that the time suddenly hit him--he’d been here since just before one, and it was probably after nine at night. Parsnip was beginning to make pathetic mewling noises at them both, tail swishing back and forth in blatant irritation. Dean’s own stomach was grumbling as if it, too, just remembered the time.

“Hey, Cas? How about I grill us some burgers or something to eat?” he offered as he stood, using their still-joined hands to tug the other man up from his slouched position on the swing.

Cas let his hand drop, then stretched both his arms up high over his head. His shirt climbed a little with the action, flashing his belly button and hip bones in a perfectly thoughtless way that sent a churning straight to Dean’s gut again. He glanced away, towards the cat, and tried very hard to ignore the nice figure his neighbor cut beneath his rumbled, dirt-streaked clothes.

“Sure. How about after that, you come back over here and we make a blanket fort outside to sleep in.”

Dean thought he was kidding, began to laugh and brush the idea off with sarcastic agreement, but Castiel’s face remained inviting and open.

“A… blanket fort?” he asked, incredulous.

Cas nodded amicably. “A blanket fort. It’s warm enough out at night, and I even have some netting to keep the bugs out.” He tilted his head, as if sensing Dean’s stunned hesitance. “Sometimes it’s nice just to stay out in my garden and act a little silly. And it’s not like there are any bears around to worry about,” he added with chuckle.

He was inclined to say no, to turn him down gently. To promise _next time_ and leave it at that. Really, two grown men having a sleepover in a _blanket fort_ outside? It was just plain weird. And then he glanced up to the sky, one that still looked so normal even though he knew there was an asteroid with their names on it hurtling their way, inescapable and brutal and bringing the end with it.

Dean couldn’t afford anymore _next times_.

He turned back to Cas with a grin, taking a risk to lean in and kiss his cheek, letting his thumb brush across his cheekbone. Parsnip came and twined around their legs, purring loudly to get their attention (he must really be hungry if he was going to such extremes), and the awestruck smile Castiel gave him was worth it.

“You know, Cas, that sounds downright awesome. Count me in.”

Dean left Castiel to bundle up a very grumpy cat, heading to his own yard to fire up the grill with a spring in his step and ghost of a kiss lingering on his lips. He should probably be feeling pretty bleak right now, drinking himself stupid and banging every gong he could before the lights went out. But his one big regret, not taking a chance on Castiel Novak? That was one regret he could lessen. Of course Dean would have rather had three-and-a-half years getting to know his quirky, wonderful, creative next door neighbor. Years to drink tea and plant gardens and build a new tool shed and watch movies and hold hands and fall in love.

But if all he had was three-and-a-half days? Well, he’d sure as hell make the most of them.

****  
  


****  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Prompt was, _’The world is about to end, how would Person A and Person B spend their last nights together?’_ I decided to really narrow down the scope onto the personal level, and I hope it worked. 
> 
> Title is a reference to '[It’s the End of the World](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z0GFRcFm-aY)' by R.E.M.
> 
> It has been ages since I’ve written anything, even longer since I wrote fanfic, and the first time I’ve dabbled in SPN fanfic. Any feedback would be appreciated. This is unedited, all mistakes my own, so feel free to correct any errors you stumble on. This fic is cross-posted from Tumblr, and if you want you can read it and admire my awesome owl theme [here](http://prizzlesticks.tumblr.com/post/93390571406/and-i-feel-fine).
> 
> Linked text gives you images or songs for reference, because I can. :D
> 
> By the way, I think Parsnip is a perfect name for a cat. And so is Thyme. Just picture it. “Have you seen Thyme?” “I dunno. Did you check your watch? … No? Okay, how about under the couch?” Haha… yeah…


End file.
